


After the Fall

by freddychillz



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Biting, Bloodplay, M/M, Mediocre writing, Murder, PTSD, Rough Sex, Violence, references to cannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 12:05:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19295380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freddychillz/pseuds/freddychillz
Summary: Set shortly after the series finale, a day in the life of a cannibal and his boyfriend.





	After the Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, not the best thing I've written, but here we are anyway.

As soon as he broke the surface of the water, the tides pulled him down, down, down, into an unknowable darkness. A grip like ice clutched his lungs, squeezed the air out of him, drawing the darkness in closer, closer, closer. He was melting into the blackness, bleeding out into every cold ripple of the ocean. A clasp of warmth drew him in, gave him breath, heaved him to the surface. 

Will woke gasping, his fingers digging desperately into Hannibal's skin, clutching the arms that held him close, the arms that had brought him to the surface. 

"Shh," Hannibal soothed him, brushed sweat-slicked hair away from Will's reddened face. "It was just a nightmare, Will. And, by the sounds of it, the same one you've been having."

Will's eyes fell shut and he breathed a heavy sigh. His heart still rattled in the cage of his ribs, his blood still raged in his ears, but gradually, his breathing began to even out. He opened his eyes to look at Hannibal.

"The same one, every night." 

"So traumatic, that fall. Perhaps our grand exit was a bit too grand for you." Hannibal raked his hand through Will's hair and gripped a handful of it at the back of Will's head.

Will huffed, rolled his eyes. "It was my idea if you'll recall."

"So?"

"We wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me."

Hannibal's lips curled into the faintest hint of a condescending smile. "I always have a plan," he retorted.

"Yeah, and sometimes your plan is to turn yourself in to the FBI." Will withdrew slowly, reluctantly even, from their embrace and climbed out of bed and stretched. Hannibal studied the way each sinew moved beneath tender, tasty flesh. 

"We wouldn't be here if I hadn't. I could've been half a world away, out of your reach. And where would you be? Drowning in normalcy."

Will flinched, although he wasn't sure if it was because of the mention of drowning or the dismissive and distasteful way in which Hannibal referred to Molly. To the life he thought he'd so desperately wanted. A hard lesson to learn was that being normal wasn't for everyone. Sure, Will always knew he was a little bit of an oddball, but he always thought he could latch on to a regular life to keep his head above the water. But Hannibal had such a knack for dragging him down. 

Hannibal ignored Will's response and rose from bed, slipping into an undershirt and a pair of boxers. "Shall I make breakfast?" It was a rhetorical question. Hannibal always made breakfast. Sometimes Will helped and it became almost nauseatingly domestic and yet Hannibal quietly reveled in it every time. The hardest lesson for him to learn was that he could deign to love anyone, to need anyone in his life. He had been so certain that he had to cut Will out of his life in order to be the man he was accustomed to being. But Will was his Becoming. Will was what he needed to transform himself into a higher entity. He was not the devil, he was no god. He was a man who relished in love and lust and blood and death. He was savage and refined, sadistic and tender. 

Will followed Hannibal to the kitchen like the stray he'd insisted they pick up along the way as they fled across the border. The shaggy gray mutt lay in the hallway, watching with large dark eyes as the two men walked by. Will whistled and patted his bare thigh. "Come on, George," he beckoned. The dog got up, tail slowly wagging back and forth, and trotted into the kitchen after him.

Before leaving the country, Will had wanted to go back home to claim his dogs. It was dangerous, though, he knew. If there was one way the FBI could lure him in, it was with those dogs. He couldn't stand the thought of parting with them and consoled himself with the thought that they were in good hands and one day, one day, he hoped, he would be reunited with them. 

He leaned against the door frame of the kitchen and watched as Hannibal set to work in the kitchen. Every meal was a production, a masterpiece. Something stirred in Will as he watched the way the light glinted on the metal of the knife Hannibal used to slice vegetables. A knife in Hannibal's hand was dangerous and tantalizing. Will licked his lips and pulled himself away from the door frame, walking across the kitchen to stand next to Hannibal. 

There was a glint in his dark eyes just as dangerous as the knife when Hannibal turned his head to offer Will the briefest glance and a self-satisfied smile. "Would you mind getting the sausage?" Will was happy to oblige, the sausage made by Hannibal himself. It wasn't pork or beef ground and stuffed into the casings. No, it was a meat that Hannibal favored much more than anything found on a farm. Will tossed a few links into a ready frying pan on the stove and lost himself in memories as he listened to the meat sizzle and pop.

A low growl from George was the first warning that something was wrong. The two men exchanged glances and Hannibal tightened his grip on the knife when they heard the snap of twigs outside their home. 

"Are we expecting company?" The question was only met with a worried glance. Will stretched fingers out to tentatively grasp another knife while Hannibal used the blade of his own to nudge aside one of the curtains. 

"Nobody knows to find us here," he said in response to a man dressed in a postal uniform, carrying a package to their front door. 

They were so entwined, that their thoughts, too, were often one and the same. They merely had to look at each other to communicate an entire plan of action. Will traded the knife for a gun he tucked into the back of his pants, under his shirt, and headed for the door. Hannibal stood to the side, knife at the ready, while Will opened the door, greeting the delivery man with short-lived cordiality. The package was just concealment for a handgun that was revealed just seconds after the door was open. Will threw his hands up in surrender. 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Do I know you?" 

"Everybody knows you, Will Graham." Hannibal caught the door as the delivery man barged into their home. With fluid grace, he closed the door, grabbed the hand that held the gun, and brought it forcibly behind the man's back. He terrorized pressure points until the man grunted and the gun clattered on hardwood. Hannibal held the intruder's arm behind his back, applied more pressure, and pressed the tip of his blade to the tender, pliant flesh of the man's neck. The delivery man gasped and trembled in terror. 

"You can't hide here, you can't-" his final words gurgled with the blood that seeped from his throat. 

"How rude to interrupt us at breakfast." Hannibal let the man collapse to the floor as he walked back to the kitchen to finish preparing their meal. 

It still amazed and alarmed Will how easily Hannibal could kill someone. It still amazed him that he himself still struggled between two contradictory impulses - the desire to save a life and the desire to take one. He knelt down beside the delivery man, pressed his hand against the gaping wound in his neck. The warmth of blood had become all too familiar to him. He wasn't trying to stop the flow, however. There was no point. Hannibal always had such precision. There was no pulse to be felt under the deluge of blood. 

Images of his own blood, black in the moonlight, cascading down his arms, face, chest flashed in his mind. He was swirling in a tidal wave of blood, pulled down into its unforgiving depths. 

He returned to reality when the dog began to bark. 

"Fuck," he muttered as he stood up. He raked his hand absently through his hair and walked to the sink where he dropped his gun on the counter before he began to earnestly scrub away the blood with too much soap and too hot of water. 

"It's in your hair." Hannibal, always so casual. He resumed cooking as if nothing happened, as if a corpse didn't lie in a pool of blood on the floor of their foyer. 

"What?" Will was too entranced by the bloody water that swirled down the drain.

"It's in your hair," Hannibal repeated it, just as nonchalant. Then he brushed his fingers at Will's hair, wiping away some of the blood. And when those bloody fingers met Hannibal's lips, Will fought off the urge to cringe. The way his body grew rigid was a tell to Hannibal who smirked in response, who wiped more blood from Will's hair to smear it against the younger man's lips. A shudder surged along Will's spine at the touch of Hannibal's finger, at the bitter, copper taste. Hannibal's smirk grew into a smile as he watched Will's eyes dilate, the savage beast awakening. 

Fingers gripped tightly at Hannibal's hair as Will drew him close, crushed their lips together. He slid a hand up Hannibal's shirt to clutch his back, blunt nails digging into pliant skin. He groaned as he kissed Hannibal with a hunger he'd never felt for anyone before. And Hannibal kissed Will as if he wasn't sure if he wanted to fuck him or devour him or both. Will broke his lips away from Hannibal's and rushed in for the older man's neck, sinking his teeth in. Dark eyes rolled back as Hannibal moaned, gripped tightly at Will's shirt. The fabric felt too flimsy beneath his fingers. It wouldn't take much effort to tear. 

He spared just a split second of thought to turn off the stove before grabbing a knife, smaller than the one he'd just killed with, but just as sharp. He cut into Will's shirt, used his other hand to tear away the thin fabric. Then he set his mouth, tongue, teeth upon Will's chest, tasting and savoring him. The chill of the blade against his skin made Will shiver. But it wasn't just the cold metal that made him tremble. Hannibal gazed up at Will with a hunger that set the younger man on edge and he flinched and cried out when the blade bit into his skin. It was a shallow incision, enough to draw a small stream of blood. The sight of Hannibal's tongue cleaning the blood from the blade elicited a helpless moan from Will. 

Hannibal used his free hand to smear the blood across Will's chest. He was an artist and Will his canvas. He painted him the color of lust, of violence. Will attacked Hannibal's neck again with teeth and tongue. He was every bit as intent on leaving his mark as Hannibal was. Will bore enough scars from the hands of his lover and yet he grew to cherish each one. A battle wound in the long-fought war against himself. There was no separate entity inside of Will. His Becoming was letting go, embracing what had always existed within him. The blackness that always frightened him. 

With just a touch of force, Hannibal pulled Will to the table and laid him out like an exquisite meal. He stripped him of his boxers then caressed the inside of Will's thigh with the broad side of the blade. He skimmed the surface of milky flesh with the edge of the knife, threatening to slice into him. Perhaps to slice off a piece of him. 

"Please," Will begged, and he wasn't quite sure what it was he begged for. He cried out when the knife bit into his flesh, when Hannibal's head dipped between his thighs, to nuzzle skin and lap at the warm blood. Will's fingers found their way into his lover's hair and he gripped tight, tugged. "Please," he repeated, his voice more of a rasp than before. 

It was a bright whiteness that threatened to pull Will in when Hannibal took his cock into his mouth. Knowing Hannibal's mouth was wet with both blood and saliva excited him. He forced his eyes opened, forced himself to gaze down upon Hannibal while the older man drew him in deeper. Will gasped, then grasped the knife from Hannibal's loosened grip. Their eyes met and he drew the blade along Hannibal's shoulder. The older man snarled, sucked harder, and fiercely gripped Will's wounded thigh. The pain and the pleasure rolled together, enough to make Will's head spin. He moaned Hannibal's name loudly, dragged the knife against his lover's shoulder once more. Hannibal grunted, scratched at the scrape on Will's leg and let his cock fall from his mouth. Will whimpered. 

There was that hunger that scared and excited Will so much, burning in the depths of Hannibal's eyes. He crawled up the length of Will's body, pressed the edge of the knife against Will's throat. The younger man's breath hitched, his eyes widened. And still he ached for the man on top of him. The knife clattered to the floor and Hannibal seized Will's lips in a violent kiss. He reached above Will's head, knocked over salt and pepper shakers in search of a bottle of oil. It took a great deal of restraint not to just ram himself inside of Will. Instead, he took his time, taunted Will with an oiled finger that seemed to refuse to push inside him. Finally, the finger found entry and Will closed his eyes, gasping. Within moments, another finger slipped inside, working him loose. Already he rolled his hips eagerly against his lover's hand. Hannibal smirked, added a third finger, slowly pushing them in, pulling them out, drawing moans from Will's lips and bucks from his hips. Then he pulled his hand away abruptly.

"Fuck," Will whined. He opened his eyes to see the look of utter delight on Hannibal's face. He always did love being able to bend Will to his every whim. 

"You bastard," Will added through a half smile. Then Hannibal's cock was poised at his hole and he sucked in a breath. When Hannibal eased himself inside of Will, Will let that breath out in a shaky moan. He grasped at Hannibal's back, scratched at his skin, eager to leave more marks. The shallow cuts on Hannibal's shoulder that dripped small beads of blood onto Will's skin just weren't enough. He wanted to stake his claim as thoroughly on Hannibal's body as Hannibal had on his. 

They moved together, their moans a rising crescendo, their lovemaking a symphony of blood and sweat and desperation. They hungered for each other, and they devoured each other in rough kisses, bites, scratches. Will dragged his nails over the wounds on Hannibal's shoulder. Hannibal slipped a hand between them to claw at the cut on Will's chest, then down to the slice on his thigh. Pleasure and pain were the headiest, intoxicating mixture of sensations. Hannibal pounded mercilessly into Will and Will wrapped his arms and legs tightly around the older man's body, as if clinging for life. Their moans became louder, the movements of their hips more erratic as they built toward their orgasms. Hannibal was first, his toes curled, his grip on Will's hips tightened as he came. He slowed his hips, but wrapped his hand around Will's cock, tugging. Will arched his back, bucked his hips against Hannibal's hand, cried out his name again and again. He writhed beneath Hannibal, completely at the other man's mercy, which Hannibal relished. Hannibal leaned down and as his mouth enclosed around Will's shoulder, his teeth digging in, Will came. 

Once again, Will fought to steady his breath as his heart beat double time against his chest. The first time they'd had sex, Will had been surprised by the way Hannibal easily followed such violence with great tenderness. Now, it was expected. After all, this was a man who'd cool Will's soup just moments before attempting to cut open his skull. When it came to his relationship with Will, violence, and tenderness were not mutually exclusive for Hannibal. He caressed his hand lightly along Will's jaw and smiled warmly. 

"What do you plan to do about him?" Will asked, with a vague gesture toward the dead man in their foyer. 

Hannibal shrugged. "Dinner?"


End file.
